The Shadow's Legacy
by SolarPenguin
Summary: Set after ROTK. A new threat is rising, and one girl finds herself caught up in magic and adventure. (Hopefully not too Mary-Sue-ish...)


(From "The Return of the King"):  
  
"Upon it sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. A crown of steel he bore, but between rim and robe naught was there to see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes: the Lord of the Nazgûl. ... Then tottering, struggling up, with her last strength she drove her sword between crown and mantle, as the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Éowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe. But lo! the mantle and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up, and was never heard again in that age of this world."  
  
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THE SHADOW'S LEGACY  
  
Chapter 1 An Unexpected Discovery  
  
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Unnoticed by Éowyn and Merry, something else dropped to the ground along with the crown and robes of the Witchking. A small band of gold, with an emerald set upon it. A ring of power -- the Ringwraith's ring -- First among Nine. Unseen by mortal eyes who were concentrating only on the conflict, it became buried within the mud and blood of the battlefield.  
  
There it lay for nearly a year. Its power waned when the One was destroyed in the fiery furnaces of Mount Doom, reducing it to the level of a mere bauble. Yet still the First among Nine survived, and when the Witch-Elf began his experiments in ring-lore, its power woke once again...   
  
* * *  
  
"Berúthiel." It was the herb-master's voice. She turned to see him stride urgently into the room.  
  
"Yes, father?" Ruthie handed the sheet she was folding back to Ioreth, and walked over to him.  
  
"We are almost out of foxwort root. Could you pick some more when you're finished helping Ioreth?"  
  
"But we don't need it, father. A mixture of greenmoss oil and hypericum wort works just as well."  
  
He sighed. "It may provide some benefit in some cases, but tincture of foxwort root is the recommended remedy according to all the ancient lore. Do you remember what I told you, when I first allowed you to become my apprentice?"  
  
"Yes," Berúthiel paused, then repeated: "Although all lore nowadays is fallen from its fullness of old, the herbcraft of Gondor is still wise and skilled in curing the wound and hurt and all such sickness east of the Sea that mortal men are subject to, save old age only."  
  
"Precisely. We, at the Houses of Healing, are the last guardians of the wisdom of Númenor. That is why we cannot allow the old lore to be neglected."  
  
"But there are types of herbs in Middle Earth, which never existed in Númenor. And new illnesses too, which our ancestors never had to know about. It is folly to lock our learning into a lost Age. Are we healers or historians?" She knew her words would have no effect on her father even as she spoke them. They had had this argument countless times in the past, and would no doubt continue to do so many more times to come. "Take the Black Breath, for example. The Númenoreans were never attacked by Nazgûl, so never needed to know that athelas could cure it."  
  
Ah! That last remark had hit home. The herb-master squirmed and suddenly became interested in an invisible bit of dust on his cuff. "Yes, well, I dare say there'll be plenty of time to discuss this later. Meanwhile, finish helping Ioreth with her work, then get me that foxwort. We can talk when you've returned."  
  
"When you've had a chance to think of a reply, you mean," Berúthiel muttered under her breath as he left the storeroom.  
  
"You really shouldn't keep reminding your father about that incident, Ruthie," said Ioreth, as Berúthiel turned back to her and took the sheet that the old woman was holding out. "He's a good man at heart, even if he can be a little bit pompous at times."  
  
"Yes, I know." The girl smiled as they started folding the sheet. "He's still not forgiven the King for it, you know. He's even planning to pledge his support to Lord Golasgil if it ever comes to civil war."  
  
"Well, he's a very big fish, and he sometimes forgets the Houses of Healing are a very small pond. You know what they say: men who can't make any decisions of importance eventually come to regard the decisions they _do_ make as important. That's always the case. I remember, back in Lossarnach, our village constable always hated interference from the county magistrates. I was even talking to my sister about it only the last time she visited the city."  
  
Berúthiel, however, wasn't paying attention. Thoughts of the King and the possibility of war continued to run around her head. "Do you think there's going to be war in Gondor again, Ioreth? Not just civil war, but real war? All those rumours about evil Elves in the lands to the south."  
  
"Well, it's not for the likes of us to say, is it? If war is to happen, then wondering about it won't change anything."  
  
"But I can't keep myself from wondering. You know how I've always been curious about everything."  
  
"If Eru had meant us to be curious," quoted Ioreth, "he would've given us all palantíri."  
  
"I wish I did have my own palantír. They say the King and his men have just returned from a council at Rivendell. I could use it to spy on them and find out what's happening."  
  
"Hmmph," snorted Ioreth, "I'm sure I could think of something a lot more useful to do with it."  
  
"Yes," teased Ruthie, "gossiping with your sister in Lossarnach, no doubt."  
  
* * *  
  
Berúthiel waved to the guards at the city gates, as she walked out into the Pelennor Fields in search of foxwort. It was strange to think that only a year had passed since the battle here. The land looked green and peaceful once again, with more farm animals grazing on it than there ever were before the War.  
  
One of Aragorn's first acts as King had been to declare this to be common land, free for all to let their animals graze upon. This had proven popular with the people and provided a much-needed boost to Gondor's agriculture and economy, damaged by the cost of conflict. Yet it had only served to annoy nobles like Lord Golasgil, who had possessed exclusive control of grazing privileges during the time of Denethor and to whom the herdsmen and husbandmen had been forced to pay tithes.  
  
Thinking of the King and his policies led Ruthie back to wondering what she would do if she had a palantír of her own. Perhaps she could use it to contact other people who shared her sense of curiosity about the world around. They would be like a club or a group, discussing events in Middle Earth, and maybe even role-playing at being Aragorn himself and other great heroes.  
  
No, she realised, that was just too far fetched. Besides, even if she were in such a group, she would most likely just alienate the other members by doing something stupid like making her first post in a long, rambling, stream-of-consciousness style filled with pointless, self-referential in- jokes, while others were more interested in wish-fulfilment by playing all- beautiful, all-perfect characters.  
  
Putting her basket down beside a large clump of foxwort, she banished all such speculation from her mind. She set herself to work, and soon the basket was nearly full. As she pulled up her last plant from the soil, she noticed the glint of something shiny falling off the root and onto the ground.  
  
She picked it up and studied it. The ring was clearly of good craftsmanship, made of gold, with an inscription in Elf-runes running around the outside and a green stone carved in the shape of a skull. It wouldn't do much good to let the patients in the Houses of Healing see that stone, but maybe she could still keep the ring to wear off-duty. Assuming that it fit her, of course.  
  
She slipped it onto her finger to see. For a second, the ring felt almost as if were tightening itself, adjusting itself to fit her perfectly. The slight surprise she experienced at that sensation though, was as nothing compared to what happened next. Lifting her hand up to see how it looked, Berúthiel was amazed to find that she couldn't see her hand at all. It had become invisible! She had become invisible!  
  
TO BE CONTINUED (if anybody wants it)  
  
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DISCLAIMER AND AUTHOR'S NOTES  
  
Middle Earth and all its established characters and places are the creation of JRR Tolkien. Berúthiel is my creation, but even her name was taken from Tolkien.  
  
She was originally created over a year ago for an online RPG, but was rejected because one of the moderators thought she was too uncanonical and too much like a Mary Sue. Of course, the moderator in question was playing a beautiful, female, visible tenth Nazgûl -- and other characters included a talking velociraptor and several scantily clad Elven warrior princesses...  
  
Anyway, I re-discovered the file with Berúthiel's origin story, and I don't think she's *that* Mary-Sue-ish. Maybe it could do with a little re- writing to remove some of the in-jokes, but there's the basis of a good story here. What do you think? Feedback from the OFUM and PPC people will be especially welcome. If enough people like it, I'll see if I can write some more. 


End file.
